


Fear

by ali_aliska



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon!Dean, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Squint and You Miss it Wincest Undertones, This isn't Happy Destiel, at all, no happy ending, season 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 06:49:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11099154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ali_aliska/pseuds/ali_aliska
Summary: Castiel takes a moment away from fighting rogue angels and rebuilding heaven to contemplate his journey through humanity and free will and reflect on his understanding of human emotions like love and fear.He gets a much clearer sense of one of them when someone pays him a visit.Set at the beginning of Season 10. Please note the tagged warnings.





	Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a personal writing challenge for "Destiel" & "Fear" prompts.
> 
> I'm not a big Destiel shipper, so I couldn't do anything happy with this, but I hope I did the angst some justice. 
> 
> First time trying my hand at actual writing and definitely first time posting a fic online. Con crit is welcome, but please, be gentle!

Hannah did most of the fighting today as she and Castiel faced another faction of rogue angels, most of them angered and frightened by the events that unfolded during the confrontation with Metatron. Unfortunately, even that physical skirmish, however minimal, left Castiel exhausted and keenly aware that his grace was failing him.

Drained by the day’s events, physically and emotionally, the angel needed some reprieve, a moment alone to think and to gather his increasingly jumbled thoughts. Hannah was reluctant to let him leave, citing the danger of yet another band of rogue angels attacking them, but Castiel disregarded her warning and took off on his own. He needed the solitude. Without a particular destination in mind, he finally found himself on the edge of a small creek running through some out-of-the-way woods. With a heavy sigh, he settled down on a large boulder and willed his thoughts to slow down.

He hated fighting his brothers and sisters. Even in the beginning, these types of confrontations left him raw and filled with grief. More blood on his hands and countless more deaths on his conscience. What made the guilt worse this time however was the fact that he couldn’t truly blame them for attacking - he understood their frustrations and fears. And after all, wasn’t he the one mostly responsible for leading them down this path?

First, the angels were expelled from Heaven. The culpability for that rested squarely on his shoulders. Then, his conflict with Metatron left divisiveness and mistrust in its wake, and now, even with the Scribe out of the way, Heaven was still in complete disarray and his siblings were lost in their grief… Untethered, like a ship in a storm without an anchor to secure it. 

At the beginning of time, God created angels to be his ever-present and ever-loving servants, eternal and unchanging. Unlike humanity, the angels were not built for free will. They were never meant to deal with the pain of regret, uncertainty, or guilt. They were never meant to experience _fear_. Now, however, so many of them were left to their own devices, and they were simply unprepared for such freedom. They were _terrified_.

For Castiel, his experiences with free will began long before the angels fell from Heaven. His journey began with the Winchesters. Ever since that fateful day, when he gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition, he was destined to follow a path of his own choosing. Free will was a foreign experience, but one he embraced fully, for better or for worse.

Fear was another sentiment that he had come to know only after arriving here on Earth and becoming entangled in the chaos that was the Winchester lives.

He had faced the fear of his own mortality many times during the years spent on Earth. First, Lucifer and the Apocalypse, then his shameful mistakes that lead to the Leviathan, and now, his draining grace. He knew that, if his grace were not restored to him soon, he would waste away and disappear from existence. In the beginning, the thought of death, of non-existence, would haunt him and the more he experienced life and free will, the more afraid he would become of death.

But then Sam and Dean became an integral, precious part of his life and he learned that the fear of losing someone you love was a far greater terror than facing even one’s own death. 

To his regret, this was a fear he had experienced and faced far too many times as well. Sam’s sacrifice to save the world from Lucifer forced him to confront a whole new level of terror and grief, which was in major part why he went down to the Cage and attempted to rescue Sam (even if the consequences of his good deed in the end lead to more pain and conflict). 

However, as dear as Sam was to him, the thought of losing Dean filled him with a fear so potent, it would overwhelm him each time he had to contemplate it. 

Just like fear, _love_ was yet another uncharted territory when Castiel began his journey through humanity. The love experienced by angels for their God was eternal and unyielding. It had no reason to waiver nor to grow; it was nothing like the turbulent, ever-changing, painful and exhilarating expression of love that humans were capable of.

In the beginning, love was at best a frightful, confounding emotion that Castiel struggled to understand (and even now, it remained a challenge), but if Castiel had ever _truly_ loved anyone, it had always been Dean. He held affection for other people, there was no denying that. Sam was dear to him, as were his angelic brothers and sisters. Now Hannah, so courageous and strong, had a place in his heart as well.

However, he had never felt for anyone, what he felt for Dean. His connection to the man was clear to him from the moment he marked him, pulling him out of Hell. The nature of his feelings ebbed and flowed, molded by their shared experiences, good and bad, but it never diminished, only grew. As Castiel’s own nature became more human, he would wonder, in the privacy of his own mind, whether his love for the man was more than just a platonic declaration of loyalty and friendship. When he finally settled on an affirmative answer to that question, he couldn’t help but wonder whether the extent of his feelings should ever be voiced. 

Unfortunately, their lives always found new disasters to throw in their way. Doing battle with angels, demons, and every monstrous creature in between gave Castiel little time to breathe, let alone deliver confessions of love to anyone. A part of him had always hoped however, that someday, life would slow down, the villains would be defeated, and he would have the chance to share his feelings with Dean and if he were lucky enough, to experience this unique expression of love. 

Hope, however, was only for fools. Castiel was brutally reminded of that when, just a few weeks past, his worst fear became a merciless, unimaginably cruel reality. 

_Dean is dead, he’s gone, he’s fucking gone, Castiel…_ Sam told him in between heart-wrenching, drunken sobs. Brave, noble Dean, bested by Metatron in the final battle, took his last breath as he bled out in his brother’s arms. 

Sam’s grief was Castiel’s grief, and in that moment, so overwhelmed by that pain, Castiel thought that this was it - truly his greatest fear realized. There was nothing more terrifying than facing a world without Dean Winchester. 

It felt like a part of his heart, his very being, withered away and died. But time marched on. Castiel could not afford to wallow in his grief, not with Heaven in need of repair and hundreds of his brothers and sisters in need of guidance. That mission gave him purpose for the time being and gave him the chance to push away the ever present grief. In his darker, more nihilist moments, Castiel thought that may be, if he were lucky, his grace would simply run out before he ever had to confront his feelings.

Sam’s distressed call several days later, however, did not help the situation. Dean’s body was gone, Sam said, and in addition to bringing his grief back to the forefront, Castiel felt seething anger. May be it was Crowley or one of Abbadon’s lackeys, but someone took Dean’s body, desecrated and dishonored it. He hoped Sam would find the culprits, and punish them as he saw fit, at the least so that the two of them could find some semblance of closure. 

Castiel sighed as the dark thoughts raced through his mind. A part of him wanted nothing more than to sit at the edge of this creek until the last glimmer of his grace and grief dissipated into non-existence, but duty called. Hannah and the others would want to discuss next steps, determine how to patch up Heaven, and deal with the rogues. It was time to get back.

Gathering a small fraction of his diminished strength, Castiel was about to teleport himself back to their current rest point, when he felt a distinct shift of energies in the air. Another presence coalesced several yards behind him and he was seconds from materializing his angel sword, but a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Hiya, Cas.”

It couldn’t be. Castiel’s heart stuttered to a stop and he took in an abrupt breath. _It couldn’t be_ , but that deep baritone was as familiar to Cas as the warmth of his own grace. Slowly, as if worried that a sudden movement would wake him from this dream, Cas turned around. And there he was - Dean, hale and whole, with a boyish grin on his handsome face. 

“Dean— how— Sam said you were dead!” Castiel exclaimed as he began walking, entranced, towards Dean, who moved closer at the same time. 

“Another one of Metatron’s stupid tricks, of course,” Dean scoffed. “Sure gave poor Sammy a scare though.”

Castiel’s brows drew close in confusion. A small warning bell was going off at the back of his mind, set off by some sense of self-preservation acquired through his acquaintance with humanity. “Dean, I don’t understand— how did Metatron—“

“Doesn’t matter, Cas, Metatron isn’t going to bother us anymore,” Dean interrupted, with a hand on Cas’ shoulder and a winning smile. “All that matters is that I’m back and better than ever, baby.” The statement was punctuated with an exaggerated wink and it was so very _Dean_ , that Castiel couldn’t help but feel warmth race through his whole body. 

Whatever trepidation he may have initially felt dissipated because Dean was _here_ and every part of Castiel, rational or otherwise, began to vibrate with elation and focused in on that one single fact. The man he loved was _alive and whole_ , smiling at Castiel, with his hand warm and heavy on his shoulder. _Dean was alive_ , Castiel repeated to himself, on the edge of euphoria, and he thought that may be this was finally the stroke of luck he had been waiting for all this time. Without another conscious thought, he moved just a touch closer to Dean and reached up to place his hand over the one resting on his shoulder.

“Dean, I am so happy… When I thought you were dead— my whole world— it was shattered…” the angel stumbled over his words, but he had to get this out. Dean’s warm smile and patient eyes helped steady him as his elation threatened to overwhelm him. “It was my greatest fear come to life… knowing you were gone. That you were dead and I was helpless to save you, to bring you back. I— there’s so much I need to say to you, Dean, so much I thought I would never have the chance to say—” 

“Cas, relax, take a breath, you’re going to give yourself a stroke,” Dean chuckled and his free hand moved to rest gently on Cas’ cheek. The breath he was supposed to take stuttered to a stop in his throat as Castiel’s whole world narrowed down to nothing but the feel of Dean’s hand on his face, and those warm, green eyes looking down at him with so much affection. So much _love_.

“Dean, I—”

“Shhh, Cas, you don’t have to say anything. I know what you’re trying to tell me anyways. You have a bit of a crush on me, don’t you?” A sparkle of mirth in Dean’s expressive eyes accompanied the question and Castiel felt his cheeks redden with heat. But Dean didn’t give him much time to feel embarrassed because he moved even closer to him, their faces just an inch or two apart from each other.

“It’s okay, Cas…” Dean whispered, this time with his eyes looking down at Castiel’s lips. “I feel the same way…” He moved even closer. “I always have…” 

In the next moment, the hand on his shoulder drew Castiel in close and Dean’s lips descended on his own. It felt like the kiss, gentle but sure, ignited every molecule of Castiel’s being and he closed his eyes, entranced by the experience. He imagined this kiss in so many different ways before, but fantasy had nothing on the reality of the feel of Dean’s soft lips or the scratch of his five o’clock shadow. The kiss felt like absolution for all of Castiel’s sins and mistakes. It felt like _salvation_.

Ending too soon, Castiel felt Dean pull away gently and immediately missed the closeness. He needed to see Dean, his gorgeous green eyes, to reaffirm to himself that this was truly his reality now. Castiel’s eyes fluttered open.

A pair of ink-black eyes stared back at him, accompanied by a malicious facsimile of a smile. 

“Hiya, Cas.”

For a moment, Castiel remained motionless, unable to process the jarring shift in reality. In the next however, he violently shoved the being in front of him away and stumbled back. His breath began to come in small bursts and his whole being shook with what he recognized as rage.

“Who are you? What have you done with him?” he screamed at the creature, who remained standing, posture relaxed and casual, wearing that infuriating smirk on Dean’s face.

_Oh heavenly father, please no. It was a demon. A demon stole Dean’s lifeless body and was wearing it, controlling it like a puppet._

The nausea at the mere thought of a demon violating Dean’s body threatened to overwhelm Castiel. 

“Leave his body now, demon! If you don’t, you will receive no mercy from me.”

“Come on, Cas, you really think some demon is wearing me like a cheap suit?” the creature rolled his eyes ( _Dean’s_ eyes, still tainted with black). “You can do better than that, pal. I _know_ you can feel that I’m not just some random demon.” 

The creature’s remark left Castiel’s thoughts even more jumbled. _Of course_ it was a demon. Despite his own certainty, Castiel nevertheless reached out within himself to find some bit of remaining grace. He needed a better sense of the nature of this demon, so that he could get rid of it once and for all and give Dean’s body the respect and peace it deserved.

His grace detected a soul within the body; it was shattered and broken, put back together and tainted with an energy so dark and foul, Castiel’s grace instinctively recoiled from it. 

It may have been mutilated and corrupted, but Castiel could never mistake this soul for another. It was the same soul he cradled in his arms when he raised it from Hell’s clutches so many years ago, the soul of _the righteous man_.

_No. No no no._

“Do you get it yet, Cas?” 

_It can’t be._

“Dean?”

The black-eyed _abomination— please no, it can’t be him—_ grinned back at him. “The one and only.”

Castiel was rooted to the spot by the revelation; he didn’t think he could move even if his life depended on it. He managed to stutter out a weak “How?”, watching helplessly as the creature— _Dean, his Dean_ — took a few leisurely steps and once again ended up right in front of him. 

“Crowley, the First Blade, something something, brought back from the dead. You know, the usual drill,” Dean rattled off casually and as Castiel was about to demand more information, a powerful, swift punch to the gut aborted any of his potential inquiries. He stumbled back, doubled over in pain, but there was no chance to catch his breath. An unyielding grip in his hair forced his face up, his eyes locking onto the black voids in front on him. 

“And I gotta tell you, Cas, it feels _so good_ to be back.” Dean’s self-satisfied grin was tainted with malice and the next hit, a forceful knee to the solar plexus, communicated very clearly that this version of Dean came with new-found strength. 

No longer held upright by the grip in his hair, Castiel sagged to his knees in front of the other man, wheezing and trying desperately to catch his breath. No such reprieve was granted, as the next kick caught Castiel across the jaw and as he collapsed fully onto the ground, several more kicks were delivered to his exposed ribs. Unable to get any air into his lungs, Castiel began coughing and saw drops of blood decorate the dirt beneath him. Not unexpected, he thought almost apathetically, given the strength of each successive hit he suffered. Curling in on himself on instinct to protect his vital areas, he looked up and saw Dean standing over him, arms crossed and expression smug. 

“Why are you doing this, Dean? You don’t have to do this! The darkness that tainted your soul, you can fight it off! You’re stronger than whatever this is, Dean!” 

“Fight it off?” Dean scoffed. “You don’t understand, Cas. I’m stronger _because_ of this. For the first time in my life, I can do whatever the hell I want. No more guilt, no more shame, no more carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’m _free_.”

“This isn’t freedom, Dean,” Cas shook his head, spitting more blood onto the ground. “This is _damnation_.”

The man above him shrugged, unconcerned. “May be. But I’ll be sure to enjoy the hell out of it.” 

“What exactly are you planning to do?”

Dean’s response was to kick Castiel again, forcing him in his back. The heel of Dean’s boot felt like an anvil against Cas’ throat and he attempted to push the boot off, but his arms barely had any strength. His struggle to breath caused his thoughts to scatter even further, vision slowly turning dark around the edges from lack of oxygen, but Dean’s words forced him to focus back on the man above him.

“Well, I probably gotta take care of some business first,” Dean’s voice was so casual, as if they were simply discussing a case over a few bottles of beer. “Definitely gonna have to gank Crowley first, wouldn’t want him to get in the way again. May be kill some angels, some demons, get drunk in a bar. I dunno, Cas, the world is my oyster.”

“And what about Sam?” Castiel wheezed out.

The pressure on his throat increased and it was all Cas could do not to choke completely. “Ah yes, Sammy _is_ looking for me as we speak. Don’t worry, I have _so many_ things in store for sweet baby brother. Actually…” Dean paused. His foot released its assault on Castiel’s throat and the angel desperately gulped lungfuls of air. He was vaguely aware that Dean kneeled down on one knee next to him. “Actually… That’s exactly why I came here first, Cas. You’re the only one Sammy has to turn to for help. The only one with enough fire power to have any hope of stopping me.”

Dean’s hand brushed some of Castiel’s hair, now soaked with sweat from the fight and the struggle, away from his forehead. The gentleness of the touch was perverse and Castiel wanted to pull away, but had no strength left to do so. “And I can’t have that, Castiel. I have _so many plans_ for my Sammy…” The smile on the man’s face turned downright indulgent, but the ever present sense of cruelty in the man’s expression only made the smile appear depraved. “Can’t you just imagine it? I can do whatever I want, _take_ whatever I want. But don’t worry,” Dean’s voice lowered as he once again brushed his fingers against Castiel’s hair, before drawing his hand back, “I won’t kill him. You know I’d never kill Sammy. Of course, he’ll probably wish he were dead after I’m done with him, but he won’t be going anywhere. Baby brother will be all mine and you, Cas?”

The sensation of the First Blade ripping open his gut forced his entire body to spasm and convulse from pain, but the only thing Castiel could focus on was Dean’s face above him, the black in his eyes finally receding and revealing the ever-vibrant green.

“You will not be there,” Dean whispered, as he drove the blade deeper, “ _to stop me._ ”

All Castiel could do was watch with wide eyes as Dean pulled the blade back out of his gut, forcing his body to go through yet another agonizing spasm. There were things Castiel wanted to say to Dean, plead with him to repent, to fight, but there was blood pooling in Castiel’s throat. He could feel it choking him, stealing his last breaths and rendering him unable to utter a single word. 

Dean stood above him, blood-covered First Blade still in hand, and admired his handiwork. He smiled again, that sick mockery of a smile, and winked at Cas once more. 

“I’ll be sure to tell Sammy you said hello, Cas.” 

The final words were followed by the sound of retreating steps and seconds later, Castiel knew Dean was gone. Unable to move and knowing that he only had enough strength left for a few more moments, Castiel looked up at the sky above him. His field of vision narrowed, everything around growing darker. The chilling sensation of approaching death was accompanied by a single realization that there was something worse than a world without Dean. This demonic, corrupted version of the man he loved, rotten to the core, was _so much worse_ and Castiel knew, as he exhaled his final dying breath, that _this_ was his greatest fear.


End file.
